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“I didn't set up this meeting with you on purpose. As a matter-of-fact, it's Mr. Britten I would rather see, so if you wouldn't mind—”
“Believe me, I wouldn't like anything more. However, as running businesses go he does a grand job, but for investing his company’s money, he's lousy.” He dropped his large weight in the swivel chair behind his desk. “So sit down and let's get this over with, shall we?”
She frowned at his curt manner. Yes, it most definitely was what she remembered most about Dexter O'Reilly.
Sighing heavily, she dropped her own weight into the wide cushioned chair opposite him. Folding her hands over her lap, she suddenly had an attack of nerves. Asking for money from all those other faceless companies had been comparatively simple when confronted with the possibility of closing down her shelter. Yet sitting here across from Dexter, preparing to do just that, was the hardest thing she ever had to face.
“I need some money.” She felt direct approach was best, but immediately hated the way the words spilling from her mouth sounded. “I mean, I need your company to invest in me—in my organization. It's just small and fairly new, but I desperately need the backing or I'm afraid I'm going to have to close my doors. Permanently.”
He frowned as he listened to her skittish splutter of words. “And what exactly is this organization?”
Laura knew this was when the look of interest on their faces turned to disinterest, and swallowed hard. “A homeless shelter for teenage girls.”
He fixed her with an unyielding frown, then scraped back his chair and got to his feet. “I hardly think so.”
“That's it? You won't even hear me out?”
“I don't need to hear anymore. We are an investment and financial group. Where is the return in this? The profit? There is none. It would be foolish to put money into something that guarantee's absolutely nothing in return. We don’t invest in charities.”
Her eyes grew angry as she stared up at him, then proceeded to get to her own feet. “Not everything in this world is marked by dollar signs. There are other things to consider, like the lives of these young adolescents—”
“They don't concern us—”
“You mean they don't concern you! How stupid of me to forget what a pompous cold-hearted individual you are. Not everything has a price tag above its head Dexter, and not everything is guaranteed.”
“In the world of business that's exactly what you deal with. If you don't like the rules, don't play the game.”
“Is that how you see these young people? As pawns in a game? They have names, faces, they are flesh and blood who feel hunger and pain.” Her gaze grew hard. “Just like you Dexter, they are human.”
His cold gaze held hers, and then with a jerk he turned away. “I can’t help you. You’ve come to the wrong place.”
She felt a startling pang of hurt, knowing instinctively, it had nothing to do with the shelter but with this heartless man instead. Closing her eyes from the affliction he conjured, she turned away.
At the door, he unexpectedly stopped her. “Look, Laura, we’re looking to expand our high-tech portfolio. If you had a new software program that needed financial backing, maybe then—”
“But I don't. I have a homeless shelter full of teens needing to be fed and kept warm this winter. A computer program just won't do the trick.” Then as professionally as she could, she walked out of his office.
* * *
The windshield wipers flashed back and forth as the rain continued to fall heavily outside of Laura's van. She had been grateful to have the vehicle back so quickly from the garage, but groaned when confronted with the bill. Indeed the problem had been the alternator—as well as the fuel pump, a leak in the radiator, and the watcha-ma-callit the mechanic tried unsuccessfully to explain to Laura's lame-brain. But she was pleased she had a means of transportation to Huntsville, a town some sixty kilometers north, for her appointment with yet another investor.
Her pleasure, however, was short-lived as her request for financial backing was, once again, refused. Turning off the provincial highway she headed east past a small harbor and followed a deserted township road leading back to her home in Bracebridge. Their explanation had been the same, if not more pleasantly put, than Dexter O'Reilly's. Their company just didn't have the extra surplus to invest in Laura's new, somewhat uncertain, organization.
She scoffed at their choice of words. What they really meant was they found her to be a risky, insecure investment in which they wouldn't give a solitary dollar to help out. At least Dexter had been honest and up front, if not rude and to the point.
The rain began to fall faster and heavier causing Laura to increase the speed of her wiper's. She had just rounded a bend when she noticed a lone vehicle parked alongside the shoulder of the road. The hood was up and the occupant was outside peering into the engine as the rain hammered down around him. He was obviously not immune to the cold climate surrounding him, as he was not properly dressed for it. Even from her point of view, she could see his dark trench coat and thick brown locks were completely drenched.
Without even seeing his face, recognition was swift. She slowed her vehicle and pulled up beside Dexter O'Reilly's black Volvo. He looked briefly relieved at the assistance in the form of Laura’s approaching vehicle, but frankly more disturbed as he reached for the handle and swung the passenger door open. Immediately, the pouring rain blasted the interior of the van before Dexter seated himself and slammed the door shut behind him.
“Thanks for stopping. I'm grateful for—” He turned in his seat and gave the driver his full attention for the first time. Large hazel eyes grew bigger in anger. “You again!”
She grinned. “Yep,”
She took in his damp appearance, from the wet heavy mop of his dark hair down to the genuine leather waterlogged shoes at his feet. An unexpected pleasure lifted her spirits. At least some good would come out of the day.
Infuriated, he turned back to the door and began to grope unsuccessfully at the handle, reminding Laura repairs on the passenger door handle were still needed. “For pity's sakes, don't be foolish.”
“Damnation! How the hell do you open this thing?” he spat out angrily, his temper, obviously beginning to rise.
